


the widest thing in the world

by besidemethewholedamntime



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Future Fic, Gen, Humour, toddler sarah is back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:21:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22516933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besidemethewholedamntime/pseuds/besidemethewholedamntime
Summary: "Overwhelmed? He’s designed literal rocket ships on very tight deadlines, been to other desert planets, fought aliens. Overwhelmed? Pft. Fitz feels the familiar tingle which means a challenge is arising. His earlier doubts are vanquished. He’s Leopold James Fitz. This isn’t going to ‘overwhelm him’."Jemma has to go to Cornwall for a week, leaving Fitz, their dog, and their two year old daughter home alone for a week. What's the worst that could happen?
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	the widest thing in the world

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zuziuchna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zuziuchna/gifts).



> This is for my bean Zuza, who is kind and wonderful and I thought I should gift you something to help me express how much I adore you <3
> 
> This is honestly just family, self-indulgent fluff. Normally this would go in my drabble work but this is far far too big to be a drabble but I still kind of have a soft spot for it (and Sarah) and so I gave it it's own space. This was also started around Summer 2018 so it kind of disregards season 6 but it doesn't matter too much in terms of the fic :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“Fitz, you’ll be _fine,_ ” Jemma sighs, exasperated, as though she’s repeated the statement hundreds of times. Fitz thinks she’s being a bit over the top – it’s only been fifty- seven. “She’s your daughter and she’s two years old and you’ve been alone with her plenty of times before.”

“Yeah, I know _that_ ,” he hisses, trying to wrestle away his shoe from the dog. “I’ve never been alone with dog that’s actually a toddler and an actual human toddler for a whole week before.”

Jemma pauses, looking up from where she has been going through her handbag to ensure she has everything she needs. Her face just screams _unimpressed._ “Are you telling me that you aren’t capable of looking after our child alone?”

“Just saying she’s going through a bit of a-” A high-pitched shriek cuts him off. Oh, how he almost regrets getting her the toddler toy piano. “- _stage_ at the moment.”

“Which is exactly why we decided that we wouldn’t drag her all the way to Cornwall for my cousin’s wedding,” Jemma says placatingly, gently teasing Fitz’s shoe from Biscuit’s mouth and setting it on the table. “Besides, that wedding is going to be horrible. I don’t want to expose my husband and daughter to it if I can help it.”

Fitz drops into the kitchen chair, feeling tiredness weigh heavily on his shoulders. In preparation for the apparently ‘terrible twos’ they’re about to experience, Sarah has taken to not sleeping for more than three hours in a row at night. She cries ‘daddy’ until he comes to get her.

Never ‘mummy’. Always ‘daddy’.

“You don’t even like Cecelia anyway,” he mumbles, scrubbing his hands over his face, hoping the blood flow will make him feel less drained.

“She’s an awful, spiteful person,” Jemma confirms, going back to her suitcase. “But if I don’t at least make an appearance she will use it against me to the rest of my entire family. Half of them already don’t quite trust me because I essentially cut off communication with them for three years.”

It’s been quite something, this descent back into normal lives that they hadn’t quite led since they were fifteen. Jemma’s family, in particular, had always wondered about it, especially when she had essentially gone off the grid for five years and returned with a husband and no explanations whatsoever. It amuses him to think of their faces if they could divulge everything that had happened.

“Who cares what they think?” He drums his fingers against the table, fingers catching on a bit of paper with Jemma’s handwriting. He brings it closer so he can read it. “You see them like once a year and that’s being generous.”

“I don’t care what they think. We have our own family. But I will not have them hold it against Sarah in case she decides she wants a relationship with them when she is older.”

“Okay, yeah, makes sense,” Fitz says absently, still reading what’s in front of him. He holds it up. “Jemma, what’s this?”

“Oh.” She smiles brightly. “It’s a list of everything that still needs to happen while I’m gone.”

He feels a little insulted. A lot insulted. “Do you really think I’ll not remember? We’ve been doing this whole parenting thing for quite a while now.”

Jemma just smiles that ever so rational smile. “Relax, Fitz, I wasn’t doubting your capabilities. It’s just merely to help you in case you get-” this time it’s a deafening lower note which sounds like thunder. Jemma’s smile freezes, barely wavers “- _overwhelmed.”_

Overwhelmed? He’s designed literal rocket ships on very tight deadlines, been to other desert planets, fought aliens. Overwhelmed? Pft. Fitz feels the familiar tingle which means a challenge is arising. His earlier doubts are vanquished. He’s Leopold James Fitz. This isn’t going to ‘overwhelm him’.

Then the dog steals his keys from off the table, Sarah decides to start playing multiple notes _very_ forcefully at once, and Jemma just smiles at him innocently, humming to herself as she checks her baggage.

_Yeah, overwhelmed sounds about right._

-x-

The chaos starts half an hour after they’ve dropped Jemma off at the train station.

“Want mummy.” Sarah plants her feet in the ground.

“Mummy’s gone to a wedding,” Fitz explains patiently. “We’ll Facetime her tonight though, yeah? You’ll be able to see her through the screen.”

“No.” The petulant lip, the feet spread equidistant apart. The hands on the hips. All signs that a tantrum is imminent.

“It’ll be okay. We’ll have so much fun this week that you won’t even notice she’s gone.”

“ _No.”_ She narrows her eyes at him as if he must be deliberately keeping her mother from her. “Want.” A stamp of the left foot. “Mummy.” A stamp of the right.

It’s useless now to try and avoid a temper tantrum. Fitz sighs, puts down the shoe that he apparently can’t put on as well as Jemma. Now it’s time to be firm, but this isn’t usually his domain. Sarah doesn’t usually start the temper tantrums with him. He’s better at ending them.

“Sarah, please don’t stamp your feet.”

“No.”

_Stamp._

“Sarah.”

_Stamp._

“We won’t go to the park,” he warns, hoping against hope he won’t have to follow through. The park will tire her out, and hopefully this might be the night where she sleeps through.

“Don’t care,” she waves dismissively. “Want Mummy.”

“Oh yeah,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So, do I.”

-x-

The next day, with five hours sleep under his belt and a child feeling much better, Fitz decides it’s time to try Jemma’s list of things she wants done.

“Well, Sarah,” he says, looking at the toddler currently trying to feed herself Rice Krispies. “It looks like we’re going shopping today.”

It all goes rather well to begin with. Sarah adores shopping; getting to sit in the child’s seat of the trolley is a personal delight of hers. A cheerful shop assistant gives her a balloon. All in all, the trip goes well.

Until they reach the last item on Jemma’s list.

“Shampoo?” Fitz scratches his head in front of the shampoo section of the childcare aisle. Jemma’s left a starred note next to this item, but Biscuit has obviously had a hold of the list at some point leaving the words distorted and illegible.

“It says something about this specific brand…” he hums, picking up the bottle from the shelf. “It’s not your usual one though.” Sarah just stares at him blankly, unconcerned with her haircare products.

Fitz squints at the list one more time, trying to decipher the words.

“Daddy, m’hungry,” Sarah pipes up.

“We’re almost done, okay? Just got to get this and then we’ll go get a snack.”

Reading the list again yields no further clarification. Shrugging, he puts the bottle in the trolley and steers it towards the checkout.

Really, what’s the worst it could do?

-x-

As it turns out, a lot.

When bath-time is over, and he is towel-drying Sarah’s curly baby hair, Fitz notices that in this light, her hair looks awfully _pink._

He dismisses it, because the light in her bedroom isn’t the greatest and he’s running on five hours sleep and exhaustion is weighing heavily on his eyelids.

But then, in the much better lighting of the kitchen where she is having her glass of milk, he notices that her hair isn’t actually pink, and turning into more of a _purple._

And his first thought is s _urely not._ He didn’t cause this. Him not buying the usual shampoo they buy for her daughter hasn’t backfired on him and caused him to turn their daughter’s hair purple for what may or may not be permanent.

Fitz isn’t an incompetent father, and he is more than capable of parenting without Jemma in an immediate radius. This week just seems to have it in for him,

_Let’s just ignore the fact that it’s only been twenty four hours._

Briefly, Fitz entertains the idea of not telling Jemma. It’s only a brief thought, a mere second, because he knows without a doubt that telling her might be uncomfortable, but her finding out that he dyed their two-year-old daughter’s hair purple in six days when she comes home will definitely be painful.

-x-

_“The note said not to buy that shampoo, Fitz!”_

Through the screen, the dimly lit hotel room isn’t enough to mask the shock and utter disbelief on Jemma’s face.

“It’s fine,” he holds his hands out placatingly, realising too late that she won’t be able to see them. “ I’ve already analysed the shampoo. Just a harmless little chemical reaction.”

_“Her hair is purple!”_

“Already contacted the company, they’re very sorry-”

“ _As they should be!”_

“-and they’re going to send us a cheque.”

Jemma’s snort reverberates around their bedroom. “ _Yes, because a cheque will make it all better that their faulty shampoo dyed our daughter’s hair purple.”_

“Sarah likes it,” he says, unthinkingly. Jemma gives him a cold look. “It’s true!” She does rather like her new hair and had stood and admired it for half an hour in front of the mirror before her bedtime. There’s going to be tears when he has to break it to her that it won’t last forever.

_“Why did you even buy the shampoo in the first place? You know that isn’t the usual brand.”_

Fitz pinches the bridge of his nose and screws his eyes shut. Sighs. “Biscuit got a hold of the list. I couldn’t see the note, thought maybe it said something about buying it.”

_“Oh, Fitz…”_

Jemma’s disappointment is almost worse than her anger. He’s so tired it feels as though he could sleep for the rest of the week.

 _“I just can’t get over that you have actually dyed our daughter’s hair purple,”_ Jemma mutters.

Well neither can he, really, but he feels a little defensive despite the guilt that’s been haunting him. It’s actually funny. Or it will be.

“Hey, I thought we agreed not to bring up each other’s parenting mishaps, hm?” He raises an eyebrow, watches as Jemma looks like he better not _dare._ “Remember when you gave her a box of raisins to eat by herself and she shoved some up her nose?”

Silence.

Then:

“ _But purple, Fitz?”_

-x-

The next day Sarah’s hair is still purple, but it’s a little less vibrant and Fitz thanks the universe for the small mercies it grants.

It’s a nice summers day. They go to the park with Biscuit and get ice-lollies and sit on a bench by the water, throwing in seeds for the ducks.

With the rare sun on his face, and his daughter giggling at the antics of the ducks and the dog being so utterly afraid of the ducks that she hides underneath the bench, Fitz finally feels himself begin to unwind.

_Maybe the worst is over, now._

But then Biscuit’s ears perk up, and she begins to make a strange noise that’s halfway between a growl and a bark.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Fitz comforts, reaching down his hand to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “There’s nothing here. It’s all fine.”

Fitz’s words are lost on the dog, who jumps out from underneath the bench and is out in front of it in no time. The lead unties itself from the arm of the bench and somehow, Biscuit ends up in the water, trying to chase a duck who is clearly the better swimmer.

Fitz stands dumbfounded, Sarah’s hand held tightly by his own. She strains at it, itching to follow her beloved pet.

“Ohhh, no you don’t,” he warns her. “Your mum would have an absolute fit.”

They’re quite laid-back parents, he thinks. ‘Free range’ if you will. But their daughter falling into a river to follow their dog who swims after a duck she was afraid of moments before might be pushing it a bit too far.

Fitz tries to call after the dog, to no avail.

“Want a hand?” An old woman asks, a smile on her face.

He rubs the back of his neck, feeling his cheeks flame from embarrassment. “Uh, yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”

The woman pulls out a bag of dog treats from seemingly nowhere and calls out in time with Fitz. The dog just ignores them both.

He glances down at Sarah, bites his lip as he decides what to do. Can he trust his daughter with this stranger while he rescues their dog? He doesn’t really want to, but it’s either that or asking the old woman to jump in after Biscuit who is now being swept downstream by the current.

“Oh, bloody hell,” he curses under his breath.

“Sarah, stay right here,” he says hurriedly, looking her in the eye. “If she tries to move you, scream.”

His daughter nods solemnly.

Once Sarah is safely with this old woman who reminds him a lot of his mum, Fitz takes his phone and keys out of his pocket and dives into the river. It takes him only a minute or two to get the dog and to make it safely onto the banks of the river.

Sarah giggles at them as he carries Biscuit back over to the bench.

“Glad at least someone finds it funny,” he comments, putting Biscuit back onto her lead and making sure it’s secure.

“I’ll bet you didn’t think you’d be going for a wee swim the day, did you?” The old woman laughs, handing him back his daughter.

“I didn’t, no.” He smiles at her gratefully. “Thanks.”

“Och, it was no bother. You better be off home now and get dry. You don’t want a cold, especially in the Summer.” She walks off.

As if that’s the worst thing that could happen to him, a cold in Summer. He presses his eyes closed to will away images of losing his daughter and his dog to the water. Jemma isn’t going to believe this.

They begin to set off home, also. There’s been to many adventures for today. His shoes begin to squelch and e has to stop and pour out the water. Sarah giggles incessantly, chanting ‘daddy swim’ all the way home.

Well, at least someone is amused.

-x-

_Almost._

Fits creeps forward, eyes fixed on the prize ahead.

_Just a few more steps._

With his arm outstretched, he tries not to make any sudden movements.

_I’ve got you now…_

He makes a grab for the keys, but the dog sees it coming and dashes away through the house.

“Aw come on!” He yells exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose before calling out in a falsely cheery tone. “Who wants a treat?”

“Me!” Sarah pipes up, toddling into the kitchen.

“You’ve just had a snack,” Fitz reminds her.

She narrows her eyes and he waits for a tantrum which never comes. He sighs in relief.

“Biscuit!” He calls. “Treat!”

The dog reappears in the kitchen doorway, looking at Fitz to see if he’s lying about a treat.

“Keys?”

The keys clink as they dangle from Biscuit’s mouth. She cocks her head to the side as if to say _what are you going to offer for them?_

Fitz shakes his head and sighs, dropping his head momentarily. Out of desperation and a moment of insanity he goes to the fridge and throws it wide open.

“Have whatever you want,” he says to the dog, who drops the keys eagerly as she contemplates the sausages sitting on the shelf.

Sarah comes closer, looking hopeful as she looks up at her father. Fitz pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, go on then. You pick whatever you want as well.”

-x-

“When are you coming home?”

Jemma looks tired through the screen, and he almost feels bad for asking her straightway but he’s desperate. This parenting thing is hard, which he knew, but it’s fun when it’s with Jemma. It’s something they can share. Sarah’s is _theirs._

 _“You know when I’m coming home, Fitz.”_ She looks around her, as if to make sure she’s quite alone. “ _My family are driving me crazy.”_

“Why’d you go down for the entire week? You could’ve just gone down for the wedding.”

“ _I’m beginning to wish I had. I don’t know, I suppose I just wanted to make up for all the other things I missed.”_

It might feel like no time at all but the years they’d been away are glaringly obvious to their families, scooped out of their pasts like a cavern. Sometimes it’s hard to see it themselves, so used are they to distancing themselves from it.

“I know,” he tells her, voice soft. It’s late at night, the house is asleep and he probably should be, also. He can’t. It’s hard to sleep without Jemma next to him anymore. For the week Facetime will have to do but it is a poor substitute for his wife. “We’re doing alright.”

 _“I knew you’d be fine. I just don’t like being away from home._ ” She shrugs sadly. “ _It’s not an adventure anymore.”_

They’ve gotten better, but back in the beginning they both used to refuse to leave the town unless they absolutely had to, unless it was a matter of absolute necessity. Sarah had come along and they were terrified to leave her, terrified that they’d turn away, look back, and it would all be a dream that would be snatched away. It had only lasted months, and the panic has ebbed, but the memory of it still weighs heavily in their minds.

“This is the mad house, Jemma,” he says, trying to make her smile. “Once you get back, you’ll be desperate to go back to Cornwall.”

It works. There’s a faint smile at the corner of her mouth. “ _Oh, you can count on it.”_

But she fools nobody and it’s okay. They settle down to go to sleep, both their screens still on the other.

-x-

“ _Daddy!”_

The scream is loud and bounces off all the walls in the house. Fitz is in the kitchen, chopping onions for dinner, when it lands on his chest and constricts it painfully. He drops the knife immediately, it clatters loudly on the side, and rushes out to the garden where, seconds ago, his daughter was playing quite the thing.

He finds Sarah lying splayed out on the stones in the impression of a starfish, wailing mournfully.

“What have you done?” He exclaims, though his heart starts to settle because he can see in an instant that she’s alright, really. There’s no lasting damage. “Aw, come here. Let me see.”

He scoops her up expertly, carrying her inside and settling her on his knee on the sofa. Her bottom lip juts out and big fat tears roll down her face, and he presses her close to him, dropping a kiss on her still-pink hair.

“You’re alright,” he tells her, his free hand gently running up and down her arms and legs, finding nothing except grazed knees and the beginnings of bruises. His soothing tone is also for his own benefit, and he finds his breathing comes easier once he confirms she’s alright. “You just got a fright, is all. You’re alright.”

“Daddy,” Sarah says again. “Sore.”

“I know, kiddo. I know. I’ll get you some ice, okay?”

“ _No!”_ She squirms when he tries to put her down and he sighs, staying in his original position.

“If you want me to get ice, I’ll have to put you down.”

Sarah shakes her head and buries her face in his t-shirt in response.

“Okay,” he relents, leaning back and putting his other arm around her. The grazes aren’t deep. A once-over with a wipe and a Peppa Pig plaster and Sarah will forget it even happened. He will take much longer. “We can stay like this for a bit.”

They both end up dozing off, and when Fitz wakes up his daughter has her thumb in her mouth and is looking up at him wide-eyed, as if he were her favourite thing, and he swears it’s the best feeling in the whole world.

-x-

They have ice-cream for dinner.

Jemma’s not here to tell them otherwise and Fitz remembers his own mum doing something similar when he was younger. They sit at the table, Sarah in her highchair, Fitz next to her and the dog looking hopeful at their feet. Fitz has the tub, Sarah has her own bowl and spoon (he’s not a _completely_ terrible parent – he measured out an appropriate amount) and they sit quite happily eating away, getting chocolate fudge brownie all over their faces.

“Daddy!” Sarah exclaims, raising her hands in the air with that glint in her eye and big grin on her face.

Too late Fitz realises what her intentions are, and he’s halfway through saying, _“Don’t you even dare,”_ before she brings her sticky hands down on top of her head and begins to rub the chocolate mess into her pink curls.

“Sarah!”

Fitz can’t breathe for a moment and father and daughter just stare at each other, waiting to see who breaks first. It’s the toughest stalemate of his life and the whole world seems to fall still, the tension so thick it could be cut with a knife.

It’s Sarah who breaks first, beginning to convulse with laughter as though she finds herself the epitome of humour. Fitz can’t help but crack a smile, and soon he laughs, too. Deep belly laughter comes from both of them, full bodied and innocent, as the sight of a two-year old with chocolate fudge brownie ice-cream in her hair.

“You better not tell your mum about this,” he tells her, swiping tears from his eyes. “She’d murder me.”

Then he has another terrifying thought and the smile falls from his face as he contemplates his chocolate-covered daughter. “We forgot to get you new shampoo, didn’t we?” He looks at the clock. “And the shops are shut now, aren’t they?”

Ice-cream for dinner and ice-cream in her hair that’s very shortly about to be purple once again. He cradles his head in his hands.

“S’okay, daddy,” Sarah says thoughtfully, patting him on the arm with a sticky hand.

“Yeah.” He swipes at his face. “Yeah it is.”

It’s an experience, he tells himself, and it will probably be quite funny once he’s gotten through it. All the same, he gives her some strawberries for dessert, feeling like he has to make up for something at least.

-x-

_“Oh, I can’t wait to be home tomorrow. Everything going alright?”_

Fitz scratches his head. “Eh, yeah, yeah. Everything’s going great here. How was the wedding?”

Jemma pulls a face as she takes out her earrings. “ _Ugh. Rather like Cecelia herself, I suppose. Completely unpredictable and completely horrible at the same time. I feel bad for saying it, because she’s my cousin, but I shall be so glad to leave and come home.”_

“And we’ll be glad to have you.”

“ _Fitz?”_ Jemma peers into the camera. “ _Is everything alright?”_

Fitz looks from her face to the scene in front of him. Sarah holds the dog’s favourite blanket in one hand and the dog has Sarah’s favourite toy in her mouth and he swears they’re both glaring at each other. They stand in the middle of a chaotic mess of a broken lamp, a knocked over plant pot with soil all over the carpet, and the feathery contents of a cushion all around them. Fitz only turned his eyes for a minute, he’s sure it was no more than that, and what happened for his dog and his daughter to reach this stalemate he has no idea.

“Yup!” He says brightly, sure that his voice is at least two octaves higher. “Everything’s perfectly, perfectly fine!”

-x-

“No.”

“Your toys have to go back, Sarah. You can play with whatever you like but whatever you take out has to go back.”

“No.”

“ _Come on_ , kiddo. Help your dad out here, hm? Your mum will be back in a few hours. Don’t we want the house all nice and tidy for her?”

“No.”

_“Sarah!”_

-x-

“Oh, it’s so good to be home!”

Jemma bursts through the front door, dragging her suitcase behind her. Fitz has her in his arms immediately, kissing her passionately before pressing her tight to him, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Everything alright?” She chuckles, but wraps her arms around him, too.

“Never leave me again,” he murmurs into her ear. “This is no fun without you.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Jemma murmurs back. “We’re a team.”

They share a smile, one of their intimate ones that betray years and years of connection that nothing could ever replace. Fitz is just about to get lost in her eyes when he hears their daughter and their dog patter into the hallway.

“ _Mummy!”_ Sarah squeals, and runs to Jemma’s legs, clutching them tightly.

“Hello, baby,” Jemma sighs with relief, bending down and swinging Sarah onto her hip, ruffling Biscuit’s head as she does so everybody is satisfied. She runs a hand over their daughter’s pink hair, trying to look disapproving but Fitz can see the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “I see you’ve had fun with your father.”

“Yeah,” he says, wrapping his arms around Jemma again, completing the family circle. “We had fun.”

It’s been a hell of a week, he can’t deny it, and yet oddly, at the end of it all, he finds that it’s been one of the best of his life. It feels like he’s gotten to know his daughter more, as young as she is. She’s one of the most stubborn people he’s ever met, yet also one of the funniest, and he has no doubt that she makes the world greater simply by being in it, that when she grows up she will change the world simply by being herself.

Once upon a time he thought his whole world was Jemma, and this week has confirmed what, really, he has known ever since his daughter was born. Sarah is his whole world, Jemma’s too, and he loves her more than he has ever loved anything, could ever love anything again. It might have been trying, it might have made him want to tear his hair out more than once, but he’d do everything all over again if it meant he got to this moment, right here, with his arms around his wife and their world tucked safely between them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Please feel free to leave kudos/comments. Please feel free not to. Either way, I hope you have a lovely day!


End file.
